he saw Ruth's
troubled countenance. "Wha--what's the matter, Ruthie?"

"Ben, I've lost something."

"Bless us an' save us, no!"

"Yes, I have. Something very valuable. It's been stolen."

"You don't mean it!"

"But I do! Some manuscript out of the summer-house yonder."

"And her gold-mounted fountain pen," added Tom. "That would tempt
somebody."

"My goodness!"

Ben could express his simple wonderment in a variety of phrases. But he
seemed unable to go beyond these explosive expressions.

"Ben, wake up!" exclaimed Ruth. "Have you any idea who would have taken
it?"

"That gold pen, Ruthie? Why--why---- A thief!"

"Old man," said Tom with suppressed disgust, "you're a wonder. How did you
guess it?"

"Hush, Tom," Ruth said. Then: "Now, Ben, just think. Who has been around
here to-day? Any stranger, I mean."

"Why--I dunno," said the mill hand, puckering his brows.

"Think!" she commanded again.

"Why--why----old Jep Parloe drove up for a grinding."

"He's not a stranger."

"Oh, yes he is, Ruthie. Me nor Mr. Potter ain't seen him before for nigh
three months. Your uncle up and said to him, 'Why, you're a stranger, Mr.
Parloe.'"

"I mean," said Ruth, with patience, "anybody whom you have never seen
before--or anybody whom you might suspect would steal."

"Well," drawled Ben stubbornly, "your uncle, Ruthie, says old Jep ain't
any too honest."

"I know all about that," Ruth said. "But Parloe did not leave his team and
go down to the summer-house, did he?"

"Oh, no!"

"Did you see anybody go down that way?"

"Don't believe I did--savin' you yourself, Ruthie."

"I left a manuscript and my pen on the table there. I ran out to meet Tom
and Helen when they came."

"I seen you," said Ben.

"Then it was just about that time that somebody sneaked into that
summer-house and stole those things."

"I didn't see anybody snuck in there," declared Ben, with more confidence
than good English.

"Say!" ejaculated Tom, impatiently, "haven't you seen any tramp, or
straggler, or Gypsy--or anybody like that?"

"Hi gorry!" suddenly said Ben, "I do remember. There was a man along here
this morning--a preacher, or something like that. Had a black frock coat
on and wore his hair long and sort o' wavy. He was shabby enough to be a
tramp, that's a fact. But he was a real knowledgeable feller--he was that.
Stood at the mill door and recited po'try for us."

"Poetry!" exclaimed Tom.

"To you and Uncle Jabez?" a